Own Little World
by Jessica Dawn
Summary: AU John Cena is framed for the murder of the boss he hates. How is he going to work his way out of this one, and what exactly waits for him in the prison run by Vince's son? Rated for language, and mention of sexual activity


Own Little World

Jessica Dawn

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So I scored the title for this piece off of a Celldweller song that actually managed to inspire the whole fic. The lyrics will appear throughout this piece, and all I can really say right now is that I hope you enjoy.

On another note, please don't ask me to update any of my other stories. As nice as it is to know that you'd like to have another piece of Forces of Nature, or Thinking of You, I ask of you to understand one thing. I am working on my other stories. Unless (in my soon to be updated profile) I claim that a story will be discontinued, it's being worked on, and to the best of my abilities. I'm trying really hard to get my stories to all go in the direction I want them to now to avoid that hassle later on. As such, I'm no longer promising any schedules for updating. It happens when it happens. If you like what I write, alert the story. You'll know the second I update.

The email address tied to this account is also no longer active. To comment on the story aside from leaving a review here, I ask that you reach me here: Jessica (dot) d (dot) Copeland (at) gmail (dot) com : You know what to do with that one kiddies.

Thanks, and enjoy.

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Mutual sight, Mutual sound 

_Mutual struggle, for shared ground_

_It's safe to say they'll try to take from me_

_I'm just another one for them to break down_

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The sounds of a typical Monday morning filled the street around everybody. Horns were honking, tires were screeching. Women in high heels made a distinct clicking noise wherever they walked. Somebody cursed at a bus just leaving the stop as he got there, and somebody yelped from a coffee spilt down the front of their suit, more in anguish than in actual pain.

Skyscrapers loomed all about in the city's downtown core, and this July was business as usual. Time to get ready for the rush to spots for a vacation week in August, because of course, they were never opened up early to any of the underlings. Those precious spots were reserved for the pigs with their own offices. Cubicle workers didn't get those spots.

And most definitely neither did college graduates. One individual made his way down the street to his own beat. A messenger bag carried his paperwork and lunch rather than a briefcase, and rather than the patent leather loafers that most of the fools running about wore, black sneakers squeaked, as his foot found linoleum. It had caused a bit of an upstart in the office at first, that the 'newbie' was wearing hightops, but when his shoe size was disclosed, it was easy to understand. It would be difficult to find a pair of proper shoes that would fit him well enough to wear all day at the office.

He had at least gotten the part about wearing the suit down pat though. An ironed dress shirt was tucked in to a pair of black dress pants, and the tie was held down with a gold tie clip. A plain black belt with a gold buckle separated the top half of his outfit from the bottom. The suit jacket itself was draped over one arm, only with him in case there was a meeting at some point that he was asked to bore himself pointlessly with.

As the tall man drew nearer the front of the line at the Bagel Stop, his eyes landed for a split second on the sesame seed bagel he'd taken to buying when going to school for accounting, but then with a sigh, he continued on. Sesame products weren't allowed in the office, as his manager was highly allergic. He'd settle for a poppy-seed bagel and cream cheese. He didn't really have much other choice in his own perspective. He opened his mouth to give the sleepy teen at the counter his order, when a barking voice from behind him shook him, and he jumped, turning.

"Cena!" Came the cry, and for a second, John thought it may have been his boss, but the chuckle that followed it assured him that it was none other than his best friend. What a difference between the two, one dressed practically for a wedding by the duo's standards, and the other, for a concert. A tightly fitting black t-shirt clung to his partner's frame, some white tribal design along the shoulderblades, untucked over a pair of jeans, and flip-flops. A pair of headphones hung around the brunette's neck, blasting some new popular song, though at the volume, it was hard to distinguish just whom.

"What do you want, Randy? I'm gonna be late…" He breathed with a slight sigh, and turned his eyes back to the waitress. A quick glance at her nametag told him her name was Sahara, and he turned his focus back to her, as the latter arrival slung an arm over his shoulders. "Poppy-seed bagel and cream cheese if you don't mind Sahara."

The girl's blue eyes fluttered open behind her thickly framed glasses, and her head rose from her palm, where it had been resting. A wink from Randy just made her roll her eyes, as she turned to fix the bagel for John, a small white headphone apparently from an I-pod stuck in one of her ears.

"Wish I could do that at work…" John muttered, turning to face Randy. "You've quite literally got three minutes right now, while I scarf my breakfast down." He spoke, as he checked his watch. It was 8:40, and he had to be at the office by nine. One would think that would leave a lot of time, but a sixteen-minute bus ride (On a good day) left him very little room to breathe.

Sahara returned with his bagel, and spoke through a yawn "That's three dollars and forty six cents sir." She placed the paper bag holding the delectable on the counter, and held out a hand. Promptly a five was placed in it, and without waiting for change, John had turned to leave. Sahara put the five in the till, and took out the change, putting it in her own pocket. "Thank you for shopping at The Bagel Stop and have a ni-" She stopped her spiel as the bells tinkling above the door signified that the duo had left. "New day, same bullshit hardasses with not enough time in their day to let me do my job." After her mini rant, she sat back down behind the counter, and returned to her original half-dead state.

Outside, Randy was kept on his toes in order to keep up with John. "John! I just wanna catch up with you man… I haven't heard shit from you aside from how much you want to kill your boss for the last three months." He called out, before he let out a loud hiss, as somebody's coffee cup found it's way to the front of his t-shirt. "Lousy son of a bitch." He spoke harshly through gritted teeth, before stumbling to catch back up to John, who was almost lost in the sea of conformists.

"Vince demands perfection. I'm the lowest nobody there. If something fucks up, I have no job, Randy. This job pays the rent, the bills, and leaves me quite a bit left over at the end of the day. I'm happy here." John's voice came back in a monotone reply, as he stole another glance at his watch while taking a bite of his bagel. He thought he felt a hand graze across his ass, but he must have been mistaken. Randy was the only one behind him, and his hands were in his pockets.

"That's just the problem John… You're not fucking happy. You spend no time with your friends, or your girlfriend. All you do is stress over your job and talk about how badly you want to murder your boss, yet everyday you get up and get dressed in this fucking suit, and part your hair to one side. You don't even like numbers, but you went to college for accounting because you like money. Why don't you just quit your job and come work with me and Amy at the music store. James'll pay you good if you can help him out with the bookkeeping. He's always bitching about it…" Randy shot back, as he fussed with his t-shirt now. He'd have to change when he got to the shop. There really was no other option.

John stopped beside a metal pole, a red and white circular sign somewhere above his head read that it was a bus stop, and there was still a full minute before the bus got there. "And like I said, I'm happy with my job. It pays good, and it's what I'm trained to do. I don't want to be James' bitch doing all the managers job for him. And don't even bring Amy into the equation. I call her at least twice a week, and she's never complained about my job. Right now you're the only one doing that."

Randy cleared his throat, beginning to mock John's boss. What other way to get through to the meathead than to repeat the things Randy'd heard John say himself. "Cena! What have I told you about thinking. I don't pay you to think, I pay you to sit there and bore yourself out of your thick skull all day because it entertains me. Now get up and go run three laps of the building trying to find something that's in my desk drawer, and then feel awkward about coming to my office without it only to see me using it. Then you can go back to your desk and crunch the wrong numbers for four hours before I tell you you've been doing pointless work because I missed the zeroes while my secretary was giving me a blowjob beneath my desk. While you're tying your shoes, why don't you just get on your knees too."

John couldn't help but laugh, as he'd performed the exact same bit only a few nights ago over his cell phone. That was before the thing finally gave out. He'd bought it in high school, and in all honesty, it gave him an excuse to get a fancy new one. He'd be going to the store after work to pick it up. Camera phone, with video text messaging. After all, with what he had save din the bank right now, he could easily afford these kinds of things. "Fine then Randy. I hate my job, I like the zeroes on my bank statement though. Look, I've been here three months, and I've got all of my student loan paid off, I'm about to make a down payment on a new car, And I'll still have a solid ten grand left in the bank after all that. Where else am I going to get a job that good?"

"You don't need a job that pays good, John… You need a job that isn't going to kill your spirit." Randy explained, as the bus pulled up. John promptly climbed on, ending the conversation. The music store Randy and Amy worked at was in the opposite direction. The doors shut, leaving Randy standing on the street. Who would've thought that John Cena would have been caught in the modern bullshit of an office job that pays good and sucks the soul right out of you. Anything for a buck nowadays. He turned, tugging at his still wet shirt, and decided that he might as well pull it off now and stand a chance of his chest drying off. Hey, another chance to work on his tan.

And it's not like I wanted to be your forever… I was just your here and no- 

The digital sound abruptly ended, as Randy answered his own cell phone, Drawing the silver machine up to his ear, with a faint smile. "What's up Ames?" He asked, perching the phone on his shoulder to his ear, as he tried to wring out his shirt.

_"Randy… Do you know where John is? We need to get in touch with him like… right now." _Came the reply over the machine. Amy sounded worried, as if something were actually horribly wrong. Had she been crying?

"Yeah Ames… He's on his way to work… I caught up with him this morning… He just got on the-" He didn't get to finish his statement before he was cut off by the fiery redhead over the phone.

_"Randy, you've got to get him off that bus. If he gets to the office, they're going to arrest him. Vince turned up dead this morning, and everybody at the office knew how much John hated the stuff Vince did to him…"_

"Ames… The bus is long gone… I'm on foot, it's on wheels, and it's full of suits. Do you really think I could catch it? You're just being paranoid right now, that's all."

"_You think I'm being paranoid Randy? I'm in fucking jail right now. They think I might've done it to get more time with John. His cell isn't being answered, and he's not at home, and they can't bring him here, Randy… He wouldn't kill Vince…"_

"Amy… What do you mean you're in jail? They can't arrest you without any proof."

_"They've got me in a holding cell, they're arresting any of his workers who disliked him, and anybody who might have had a reason to do it. This isn't right Randy. You've gotta get us both out of here."_

"I'll do what I can Amy. I'll grab a cab and try to catch the bus I guess. Either way, I'll come down to the station at some point today and see if I can get you out of there."

"_Randy no don't hang up, Don't leave me alo-"_

Randy folded up the phone, and stuffed it back into his pocket, a faint smile playing at his lips. Everything was going according to his plan.

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To Be Continued


End file.
